All The Lights
by yellowcottondresses
Summary: The holidays are getting closer, and Avery can't stop thinking about everything Juliette is missing. Will tries to step in and remind him that Cadence has plenty of family. ONESHOT.


**Author's Note: This was part of a much-larger story that got chopped up and cannibalized into several different, smaller stories. I decided to publish this part as a fluffy little (American) Thanksgiving bit featuring 75% of Three Men & A Baby, otherwise known as The Season 4 Gift That Keeps On Giving. **

**I don't own Nashville.**

 **I.**

The sky is turning dark again as Will heads home. What little sunshine they'd had after this morning's storm disappears behind sullen clouds, the air thick and swampy with wet, rotting heat. Along the interstate, rust-colored tree lines zip past. Their branches curl like talons into the sky, like they're trying to scrape through the shadow of the clouds to find the light.

Pretty soon everything will be brown. They'll wake up a blazing winter sun that cuts through socks and sleeves and gloves, leaving them stiff and frozen under useless layers. At night, they'll go to sleep in darkness that falls too quickly. But during the day, that sky burns brightly, so blue it hurts to look at, looking so much warmer than it actually is. Fresh as a new wound, and just as raw and aching.

He comes home to a dark, quiet house just as the rain starts coming. He'd barely put his key in the front door when Avery flings it open, putting a finger to his lips to shush Will as he ushers him inside.

"Take your boots off," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

Will frowns. "They're not muddy."

Avery rolls his eyes. "Come on, man. I JUST put Cadence down for a nap. If she wakes up, putting her back to sleep is your job."

Will considers this, and slips his boots off as quietly as possible. The crazy thunderstorms they'd been having lately kept the baby awake, and fond as Will is of his littlest roommate, last night had been pretty brutal. She screamed for hours, even after the thunder stopped.

And when she didn't sleep, neither did they.

Avery has his laptop on the counter, trying to type as quietly as possible as Will peers in the fridge for whatever passes as edible.

"What day did we order PF Chang's?" he asks.

Avery shrugs, not taking his eyes off his computer screen. "I don't know. Thursday? It was the night of that game you wanted to watch."

"That would be a day that ends in Y."

Avery looks up from the screen long enough to make a face at him.

"Pretty sure it was the night Cadence threw up on you. Think it was butter squash." Avery considers this for a moment, then nods his head. "Yep, it was definitely the butter squash, because it was bright orange."

Will remembers that night for the smell more than the color. "Oh yeah. That was Thursday, wasn't it?"

"Think so."

"It was," Will says, more assured. "I had to take three showers to get the smell out."

The Jets/Broncos game. That was the one.

Reasonably sure it won't poison him, Will dumps the leftover takeout onto a plate and heads it up in the microwave. The timer counts down while Avery stays hunched over his keyboard, lips pursed into a frown.

"Why the long face?" Will asks.

Avery sighs. "Looking up flights to Ohio. My folks want me to come home for Thanksgiving."

Will hears the weariness in Avery's tone. "Sounds like you're not big on the idea."

"Not really," Avery replies.

The timer runs down to the last few seconds, and Will takes the plate out of the microwave before the bell goes off. He doesn't want the beep to wake the baby.

"Do your parents know what's been going on?" he asks, sliding into the seat across the table from Avery.

"Kind of." Avery rubs his face with the heel of his hand. "They know she hasn't been home since the night of the release party. They know Juliette didn't come back when Cadence was in the hospital. And they know I filed for divorce. I didn't tell them about how she beat up that fan at the hotel, but they probably already know. It was all over the tabloids."

He sighs again, slumping down in his seat. "And now I have to deal with all the nose relatives asking questions."

"Why don't you just ask your parents if it can just be the four of you? That way, you don't have to deal with it."

Avery shakes his head. "Thanksgiving is, like, my grandmother's Holy Grail of holidays. She spends days cooking this huge meal, and practically the entire family on both sides comes to celebrate at her house. And my parents are both Catholic." He raises his eyebrows. "My mom is one of six, my dad five. I have almost thirty cousins."

Will winces in sympathy. "I know how that is. My dad's Catholic. He only has two sisters, but my mom had seven kids in her family. We had these big family reunions every summer at my grandpa's ranch in Amarillo, and every year there were more cousins showing up that I'd never met before."

"How many are in your family?" Avery asks.

Will takes a few bites of his lunch, stalling for time to answer.

"Just me." He clears his throat. "My, uh, my mom, she said there were a lot of problems when she had me, so she had to have some big surgery, and she couldn't have kids after that."

He pokes at his plate for a moment.

"I asked them once," he says, "when I was a kid, why I didn't have brothers and sisters like all my cousins did. They said they were blessed with me on the first try." Will snorts. "I guess they don't feel very blessed now."

Avery shakes his head. "Don't say that, man. If your parents can't accept the person you are, they aren't worth your time. My dad and my sister can't be in the same room together without getting into it, so she hasn't been home in years. Sometimes, cutting yourself off is what you have to do."

Will pokes at his food again. Avery's right – Kevin and Gunnar have both told him the same thing over and over again – but he's wrong about one thing.

Will didn't cut himself off from his parents. His parents cut themselves off from Will.

"Well, look," Avery says, thankfully ending that line of conversation, "whatever happens this year, it has to be better than last year's Thanksgiving."

Will's eyebrows shoot up. "What happened last year?"

There's a small smile on Avery's face.

"I sat around in my Sad Dad apartment, feeling sorry for myself," he admits. "Scarlett was cooking dinner for Deacon and Zoey and she invited me to come, but I felt like crap and just wanted to wallow. And at the time, Juliette and I weren't really talking; I didn't feel like I could just call her up and ask if she was doing anything. So I sat in my underwear, drinking beer, and watched a marathon of _Criminal Minds_."

"That's…" Will closes his eyes for a moment and tries to find the right word, but the mental image he has is too pathetic to summon any, so he shakes his head and tries not to laugh. "Yeah, you're right. Anything has to be better than that."

Avery laughs. It's quiet and sounds rusty, but he laughs.

Will gets up and takes his plate to the trash. Two minutes ago it smelled like spicy noodles and heaven, but now it lodges somewhere in his stomach and just stays there like cement. He scrapes it into the trash and sticks the plate in the sink, throwing open then pantry.

"Did you eat anything yet?" he asks Avery.

"No. Is there any oatmeal left?"

Will peers on the shelf. "Sorry. Just cereal. Want Cinnamon Toast Crunch?"

Avery stretches back in his chair, arms reaching up. "No thanks. I hate how they get all soggy."

"The right ratio of milk can fix that."

Avery shakes his head. "They're Gunnar's anyway. He comes back in two days and he'll be pissed if I ate his cereal."

"He is weird about his breakfast food," Will agrees.

The last time Will was hungry and had a bowl of Gunnar's Apple Jacks without asking him first, Gunnar stormed into his room twenty minutes later, waving the half-empty box in his face, and lectured him about "respecting boundaries" and "personal responsibility". Which Will would have taken a whole lot more seriously if:

A) Gunnar wasn't getting worked up over breakfast cereal

B) He didn't eat like a six-year-old

And

C) Gunnar wasn't so weird and particular about things most people weren't so weird and particular about. Like breakfast cereal made for six-year-olds.

"I have to go to the store, anyway," Avery says. "We're almost out of formula. And I need to take Cadence to get some more clothes, anyway. She's already too big for most of her stuff."

Right on cue, the baby wails through the monitor on the counter. But neither of them need the monitor to know Cadence is awake – they can hear her screaming upstairs all the way from down here.

Avery closes his eyes, sighs, and heads upstairs. After a moment, Will follows.

 **II.**

It's DEFCON 4 in Avery's room when he pokes his head in, Cadence howling as he bounces her at his side and tries – unsuccessfully – to calm her down.

"Okay, Baby Girl," he says. "I just fed you and you don't need a diaper, so why are so fussy?"

"Hey, Cadie," Will says loudly, trying to be heard over the screams. Then he turns to Avery and says, "Where's that doll-thing she likes so much?"

"What doll thing?" Avery asks.

At that moment, Cadence turns up the volume on her yelling to a decibel range that Will can't help but be impressed by. She's so tiny; he didn't think she had it in her.

"You know!" Will feels like he's screaming at Avery from across the length of a football field. "That stuffed toy you got her!"

"You're gonna have to be more specific than that," Avery replies, scowling at him. "I bought her a lot of stuffed toys."

Cadence screams right in his face, and Avery winces.

Will hunches down and looks under the crib, then the changing table. Nothing.

"That little horse thing," Will says. He looks under Avery's bed and in the closet. Still nothing. "I think it was blue."

"Wait, you mean the giraffe?"

"Whatever that weird horse-thing was!"

Avery rolls his eyes. "It's definitely not a horse. It's a giraffe. They're two different species!"

"Okay, well, whatever it is, she had it last night and she doesn't have it now," Will tells him as he stands up. "So think real hard about where you put it last."

Cadence continues to wail in his arms. Avery closes his eyes, either because he's trying to think or because he's about to fall asleep on his feet.

Will sighs, then reaches his arms out for the baby.

"Come here. Give her to me. You go check downstairs."

"You sure?" Avery says, but he's already turned towards the bedroom door.

Will motions for her with his hands. "Go check in your car, too."

Avery hesitates a moment, then places his daughter into Will's hold. He catches her around her bottom, bouncing her soft, damp weight against his shoulder. She squawks directly in his ear, and he turns his head away slightly, patting her back with one hand and jiggling her up and down.

He's gotten much better at holding her since she and Avery first moved in. Gunnar seemed comfortable with the baby right away, but Will tried not to be in the same room with her if he could help it. It wasn't that he didn't like Cadence, or had something against babies in general, but she smelled weird and cried a lot, and it wasn't like she could tell them what was wrong or what she needed.

And she was _so small_ ; even when she wasn't screaming or covered in puke and whatever kind of grossness he didn't want to imagine, he kept his distance, thinking about how tiny her fingers were and how soft her head was and how she couldn't even sit up straight or walk or run or do anything besides sit there in her carseat at the mercy of whoever was around. If he tried to hold her or feed her or breathe near her, he might do it wrong and end up hurting the baby without meaning to.

She lived here almost three weeks before he finally held her, and even then, he grabbed the baby under her armpits, holding her with his arms straight out, as far away from his body as possible.

"No, man," Gunnar watched him her like a wriggling football covered in drool. "You gotta do it like this."

He bent Will's rigid arms, folding them closer to his chest, until Cadence was right in front of him and staring directly into his face, her expression curious. She picked at the collar of his v-neck with fingers that had surprisingly sharp little nails, her breath milky and warm and weirdly relaxing. She was warm and soft and solid, which he hadn't expected. She felt alive, and for a minute all he did was keep his arms stiffly locked in the position Gunnar had placed them, and watched her pull at his shirt, drool running down the front of her little pink pajamas.

Then she reached up and touched his chin, her eyes studying him. He'd never seen a baby look so serious before, and it made him laugh.

"Hey, Cadence," he said softly. "How am I doin' here?"

Cadence looked at him, like she was thinking about the answer.

"Cadence," he repeated.

Then, he said, "Cadie."

He smiled, then wiped off the drool that was dangling on her chin.

"We're okay, aren't we Cadie?" he asked.

She blinked. He took that as a yes.

Cadence and Avery haven't even been living with him for two months, and she's changed so much in such a short time. Sometimes he thinks that he ought to take a picture of her every day and then compare them side-by-side, so he can find the point along the timeline where exactly it is that the baby changed so much at once. She's much bigger than when she first moved in, and more alert.

Plus, lately it seems like she knows who Will is. He's not just some random person walking in and out of her days anymore; when he comes into a room, she'll turn her head to find him, and sometimes her small hands reach out. He'll hold her and she'll smile. He'll talk and she'll stare directly at him like she's trying to understand. He'll make a face at her, and she'll either stare him down with an unamused expression or try to mimic it herself. When he says her name, she responds, turning her head or waving her arms towards the sound of his voice.

She still cries a lot, and the diapers are disgusting, and her ability to projectile vomit is nothing short of an Olympic achievement. But every time Cadence reaches those arms out, something unlocks in his chest; a warm contentment easing through him, soaking through his skin like sunshine.

"Hey, Cadie-girl," he murmurs, running a hand over her head. Her skin is mottled red from screaming, making the fine blonde hairs on her soft scalp look white. "You are just not happy today, are you?"

Cadence wails, but the volume seems to die down a little. He jiggles her against his shoulder, running his hand down her back, putting his lips to her ear and shushing her quietly. She's still crying, but with less fury than before, and when Avery returns with the stuffed blue giraffe-horse-whatever-four-legged-mystery-animal-it-is, she's reduced her tears to sulky hiccups.

"Found it," he says, waving it in her face. "It fell behind the couch."

Cadence reaches for the toy, tears still slipping down her cheeks. But her fists clamp around the animal's plush blue neck, and after Will pats her on the back a few more times, she's quieted down, clutching her toy while she drools on his shoulder.

"There we go," he says in a sing-song voice. "Got your doll back."

Avery grins. "How'd you know that's what she wanted?"

"I didn't. But every time she dropped that thing yesterday, she started wailin' until someone picked it up. So I just guessed."

"Well, good guess." Avery reaches for her and Will hands her over. "Looks like we have a new favorite toy. For now."

"Looks like," Will repeats. "Right, Cadie?"

Cadence blinks at him, eyes now dry, and reaches one hand out to touch his face. Her little fingers brush the bottom of his chin, and holds still, then blows a puff of air into her face. She rears back into Avery's hold, wrinkling her nose and frowning at him with disapproval.

He's done this a couple of times with her, just to see that face. Antagonizing a baby isn't the best idea he's ever had, but sometimes, he can't help it. It's such a funny expression on her little features that it makes him laugh every time. He's also had staring contests with her, keeping his gaze still as long as possible, then twisting his face into a ridiculous grin, to see what she'll do. Sometimes she smiles, but most of the time she scrunches up her forehead and stares back at him with this hilariously judgmental scowl.

"All right, Baby Girl," Avery whispers. "Think you're ready to go back to sleep?"

Cadence hiccups, but Will can see her eyes are starting to droop.

They stand in the new quiet, Cadence's head resting on Avery's shoulder. Then Avery turns to him, his face looking even more lined and tired.

"You know," he tells Will, his voice still quiet, "I didn't tell them what Juliette said. About…when Cadence got sick. How she said she didn't care. I just…I couldn't tell my parents that."

His pointer finger traces circles into the back of Cadence's pajamas, spiraling between her tiny shoulder blades.

"I don't know why I did that," he murmurs.

Will reaches out and skims his palm across the baby's back. He can feel her breathing into his hand.

"I know why," he says. "Because, at the end of the day, she's still your daughter's mother. You want to believe Juliette still loves her. Even if all the evidence says otherwise."

He looks down at Avery. "You may be doing this alone, but she has two parents. And it's hard to let go of that. No matter how much reality sucks, you still want to have hope."

Avery blinks, very quickly. His neck is turning bright red, and he looks away from Will, staring at the floor. It's a moment before he can look up at Will, and when he does, his face is pale and tears are coursing down his face, just like his daughter moments ago.

"This is going to be her first Thanksgiving," he half-says, half-sobs. "And her mother isn't going to be there. And pretty soon it's going to be her first Christmas, and her first New Year's, and then her first Easter – "

Avery's voice cracks. "And then it'll be her birthday, and Juliette won't be there, either. And Cadence will keep getting older, and Juliette…she'll miss it all. Not just the big things, but everything else. The fevers and the walking, and the first words and skinned knees and bedtime stories, and then school and homework and carpools…It's what I can't get used to. That she won't be there. Especially now, with Thanksgiving and Christmas, and all the family stuff people are doing."

He gulps, sniffing back more tears, and takes a deep breath.

"You know," he says, "when Cadence was born, I had these ideas of what Juliette and I would do around this time of year. Get pictures with Santa, get one of those 'Baby's First Christmas' ornaments, take all these videos on my phone and email them to all the relatives. Cheesy stuff like that. And I wanted to do all of it with her."

"You can still do that with her, you know," Will replies. "The ornaments and the videos. And it's not like the baby will care either way. She won't even know what's going on."

"I know," Avery says. "But that's not the point. It wasn't gonna be for her. It was supposed to be for us – me and Juliette. This was supposed to be our first big family holiday. And I wanted it to be everything it could be as a family." He shakes his head. "I guess I need to lower my expectations."

Cadence sputters a moment, and they both hold their breath, waiting for a cry. But she just fidgets in Avery's arms, and after another whimper, settles back down to silence.

Will's hand is still resting on her back.

"Well, look," he tells Avery. "I know it's not exactly what you had pictured. But trust me – if Gunnar has any say in it, we're going to see that sweaty mall Santa."

Avery smiles.

"How about the Opryland Hotel?" he replies.

He rocks Cadence in his arms, rubbing her back in slow circles.

"I wanted to take her to see all the Christmas lights. Might be nice if we all went. You, me, and Cadence. And Gunnar, if he's in town. If you wanted to go, that is."

Will stares at him a moment, mouth open. Avery is willing to take his baby and be seen in public with Will Lexington. It's something so huge, he thinks his chest might explode.

His roommate has complained about a lot of people recognizing him as "Juliette Barnes' Baby Daddy". But between the two of them, Will would bet money he's the more widely recognized. You can't be a rising country music star and suddenly come out of the closet without everyone knowing your face. Everywhere he goes, he's stared at. Whispered about. Shunned. Publicly insulted.

And the same goes for the people seen with him. _"Guilty by association",_ his dad called it.

Avery has never been anything but completely cool with Will, and he considers Avery a friend he can trust. But Will also knows – probably better than anyone – that being comfortable in your own home and being comfortable about being in public, where assumptions can be made, are two very different things.

Just ask Wade Cole.

And here's Avery, asking him to come along with him and his daughter on a family outing. In a crowded place, where people will easily spot him and know who he is.

It might be one of the kindest things anyone has ever done for Will.

"I'd like that," he says quietly.

Avery smiles at him, patting Cadence on the back. She's completely calm now, her eyes closed, back to sleep in her daddy's arms.


End file.
